


Antecedence

by Shiwah



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiwah/pseuds/Shiwah
Summary: The Antecedent is not just a figurehead. The Antecedent is a leader, but even a leader has her weaknesses.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	1. Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set post-ARR, post-Chrysalis.

The quill scratched the parchment as Minfilia signed another petition to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, one of the too many still stacked on her desk in the solar at the Rising Stones, and she sighed inwardly while fetching the next from the pile. The tranquil flame of the candle to the side was the only other movement in the still air, the chill not quite as severe as the nights in Thanalan.

A quiet creak from the double doors made Minfilia’s head raise in alarm. She relaxed once she recognized the tall figure traversing the threshold.

“Urianger.”

“Antecedent.”

Minfilia leaned back on the tall chair, momentarily forsaking the papers to give her full attention to the new visitor and, she belatedly noticed, the tray he carried. She eyed it, her head tilted in an unspoken question.

“Mistress F’lhaminn bade me bring thee thy customary tea blend, ere it turneth cold,” Urianger explained, placing the wooden mug on the only spot on the desk not strewn with documents. Minfilia raised an eyebrow—F’lhaminn wasn’t usually one to miss one of the rare occasions where they could speak alone.

“What is the _real_ reason you are here, Urianger?”

He stilled. Then, very deliberately, he brought his arms back to his sides, and raised his chin to the wall behind Minfilia—to Tupsimati.

“Ever Master Louisoix labored for the good of the realm,” he murmured, “and it costed him overmuch.”

_(A flash of untamed pale blue hair, a hearty laughter that rang across an entire hall, defiant to the last)_

Minfilia winced. The Echo faded, leaving behind a faint sensation of dizziness.

“Prithee, takest thou but a moment to rest.”

If Minfilia didn’t know him so well, she could have sworn that Urianger’s tone sounded almost _pleading_.

There were many things she could have objected.

Things about Tataru’s tireless screening of the petitions that eventually reached her desk, or about her own feelings of powerlessness while she was sitting at that same desk and was forced to stay calm while receiving reports about Ifrit’s tempered being put down.

About the ever-present fear of following a false trail, of sending someone to their own death, or putting the Warrior up for a wild dodo chase that led to even more lives being lost.

About the Scions being stretched too thin, and how she wished to be everywhere at once, to help, to organize, to _save_.

She wanted to say many, many things. Instead, Minfilia poured them into a tired smile, and said nothing.

They regarded each other for a few heartbeats, the silence stretched thin between them. There were many unspoken words between them, neither willing to say them aloud.

Urianger caved first. He bent into a wordless, flourished bow. “I shall leave thee to thy task. Twelve preserve thy slumber, Antecedent.”

Minfilia let out the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding in, and let her smile broaden a fraction. “I cannot in good conscience leave work unattended when there are so many choices to make, supplies to order, but… Thank you, Urianger. I shall retire for the night anon.”

She watched still as the elezen retreated and left her alone once again, the heavy doors closing behind him with nary a sound. Her tea sat, still untouched, the gentle rise of the steam a twin to the candle’s own thin trail of smoke.

Minfilia reached for the mug and held it in her hands, soaking up the warmth through her palms while staring at everything and nothing at once. The gentle smell of chamomile and vanilla filled her nostrils, calming the turbulence within her own mind.

She took a sip, and then another, and another, until at last the cup was drained, and so was her spirit.

Minfilia hunched forward, physical and mental exhaustion weighing on her shoulders. Perhaps F’lhaminn—who most assuredly was the one behind Urianger’s unusual behaviour—had the right of it. She needed sleep, lest everyone suffered from her fatigue-induced negligence. The harsh lesson from Lahabrea was a constant reminder, and Minfilia held no illusions about her own immunity.

She extinguished the candle with a blow, and rose from the seat, the loud dragging noise making her flinch after so long spent in near silence. Hopefully no one was disturbed by it.

The ceiling chandelier was the last light to go as Minfilia left the solar, one last glance at Tupsimati quietly glowing in the dark before she locked the doors.


	2. Captivity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minfilia meets Livia. It's not a leisure visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the tags! There are **graphic depictions of violence** and **implied torture**.

It happened all too fast.

One moment, she was talking to the Echo-blessed adventurer, slayer of Ifrit and now Titan, via linkpearl.

The next, screams and gunshots and the cold, cruel voice of a merciless Tribunus taking her and the Archons prisoner.

And then, silence.

She didn’t know which was worse.

  
  


  
  


The hard, unrelenting floor kissed the bare skin of her arms as the chair was thrown from under Minfilia. She whimpered in pain, the cold metal hitting her elbow _hard_ , her bound hands unable to bring relief to her hurts.

Livia crossed her arms on her chest, her white armor a stark contrast to the darkness of the cell. Cold, calculated, with an undercurrent of impatience barely kept in check, her words rang clear among the walls. “Tell me everything about the Echo, and I shall end it quickly. Refuse, and though you beg for death, you shall not have it.”

Minfilia rose back on her knees, slowly but surely, and stared back at her captor, the expressionless helmet obscuring her face an obstacle to the Antecedent’s attempts at reading her.

Her answer, though not as calculated as Livia’s, vibrated with powerless fury. “You shall not have what you seek from me,” she snarled, teeth bared in defiance.

The Tribunus waved a hand. One of the conscripts stepped forward. At Livia’s nod, he grabbed Minfilia’s hair and yanked her head back, hard. Minfilia yelped, but otherwise refused to yield an ilm. She ignored the soldier, and kept staring at the Tribunus in a silent battle of wills.

Neither wanted to lose ground—there was too much that Minfilia couldn’t afford to lose. The same was probably true for Livia sas Junius, though Minfilia couldn’t even begin to guess what, exactly, drove her to such lengths. It wasn’t just being in a position of power, or the condescending way nearly all who came from Garlemald looked at the other nations.

There was something _more_ , something that—

A rough pull of her hair yanked her back and out of her musings. She grimaced, a pained moan slipping through her gritted teeth. Her tormentor’s face inched closer to her own. “You _will_ listen to the Tribunus, savage,” came the hissed order.

Minfilia’s eyes darted to the soldier for a brief moment and back to Livia. The other woman’s arms were once again crossed over her chest. There was a faint tremor in her fists.

The flaw in Livia’s character was that thin thread of restraint that was about to snap—Minfilia _lunged_ for it. “The one you call eikon-slayer will _never_ be your captive, even if it costs me my life—a tawdry price to pay to thwart your Legatus', and his Ascian masters, plans!”

Livia backhanded her across the cheek.

The blow was so sudden that the shock took a moment to register. Minfilia felt iron on her tongue, her mouth agape in surprise and pain. Blood trickled down the split skin on her face.

Livia’s hand, balled in a fist, shook. “You have spirit, that I will allow. Yet you struggle to the benefit of none, least of all yourself.”

The Antecedent—or soon-to-be-dead Antecedent, Minfilia thought with a barely suppressed shudder—looked straight into what passed for eyes in the porcelain-like face concealing the Tribunus' own, her soul ablaze, and _spat_.

Blood mixed with saliva landed right on Livia’s leg. A polished, armored, _hard_ boot connected with her ribs, and Minfilia coughed and wheezed as she felt the bones crack under the impact, her lungs no longer able to support her growing need for air without spikes of pain lancing through her body.

The Tribunus’ voice sounded _bored_ even through the filter of her helmet. “Beat that defiance out of her.”

She turned her back to Minfilia and began walking out with steps measured, but a mere paces later, she stopped again to add, “Avoid the vitals. We don’t want to ruin the specimen _too_ soon.”

The heels of the retreating Tribunus sounded like the toll of a funeral bell, until the sliding doors shut close with a quiet whirring sound, and the screaming began.

  
  


  
  


Later, much later, after she was rescued from Livia's tender mercies and Y'shtola had done what she could for the worst of her injuries, Minfilia limped, slowly but surely, to her desk, pristine and unmarred by the horror that it witnessed save for a bullet mark to the front. It gave her a sense of vertigo.

She touched the hard wood and closed her eyes, her fingers idly stroking the smooth, unlacquered surface.

Noraxia never again would dance under the boughs of the Twelveswood.

Young Arenvald sat and stared at the ground, empty-eyed, for bells before bursting into a wailing fit.

The fallen Scions buried in an unmarked grave at the Church of Saint Adama Landama would never be celebrated for their deeds.

Was standing unbent, unbroken, worth so much death?

Minfilia reopened her eyes, her face draw taut.

 _Yes_ , she decided.

_For those they could yet save._


End file.
